


To play as we please

by Petra



Series: The art of accessorizing [2]
Category: DC Animated Universe (Timmverse), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Crossover, F/M, Identity Porn, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-04-12
Updated: 2007-04-12
Packaged: 2019-09-19 18:54:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17007279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Petra/pseuds/Petra
Summary: His smile is still Robin's, not Batman's, but the distinction has more to do with it not being framed by the cowl than anything else.





	To play as we please

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Teland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/gifts).



> Beta-read by Katarik and Miakun.

"It never fails to surprise me that you have enough energy to patrol," Robin says in that voice that makes Tim think he's spent a lifetime too long with Batman, without the good parts. When he uses that voice, it's hard to think of him as really being Robin, but there's only room for one Tim at a time in Tim's head. Convenience trumps accuracy.

Tim shrugs and readjusts his goggles. "If you don't use your youthful stamina, R, that's your problem."

Robin flicks his cape back and pulls out an energy bar. "Perhaps later."

"That's not what I meant." Tim cartwheels over and kicks it out of Robin's hand, catching it as he stands. "We've got another twenty minutes before anything happens over there. You saw Giordano take his shirt off." He gets a big bite of energy bar before Robin nervestrikes his wrist and he drops it.

"We can't be sure of that." Robin gets Tim's other wrist pinned behind his back and shoves him with his shoulder until they can both see the appropriate window again.

Tim arches back against him and grinds against his jock, just so. "You keep an eye on it for both of us." He kicks his feet up and gets out of the pin over Robin's shoulder, then uses his grip on Robin's wrist to get back to his feet. "You can do that without me."

Robin's gauntlet is harsh enough in his hair to feel real. "The next time you ask if you can patrol with me --" The breathy little hitch when Tim gets his jock open is enough to make him grin.

"Yeah, R?"

"Does Batman put up with this from -- nngh."

Put up with, no. Demand it, harder, and faster, and hell yes, Tim would say, but it's easier to go down on him. Robin always likes a practical demonstration.

They don't have a lot of time for finesse, here. The case could get a jumpstart any second, or Batman could call them. Still, there's always time to lick him and give the head of his cock a solid suck. Not that Robin needs it -- he's probably been waiting for this since he figured out the reason he couldn't find Batman ten minutes before patrol was that he was half out of his uniform, helping Tim "stretch out" -- bracing his hands on the lower uneven bar and getting all the kinks out of his lower back, plus warming up his voice with a few good screams.

For a full-on detective like Robin, it can't have taken a lot of deduction, but he still watched for a while before he hit the streets.

This is to make it up to him. If they'd had time, then -- if Batman ever let them put off patrol for sex -- then they wouldn't be doing this during a stakeout. Maybe Batman can figure that out, eventually. He'll get plenty of footage of this blowjob from Oracle, even if he hasn't got his own cameras on it.

Tim resists the urge to wave to Barbara.

He's losing a chunk of hair to Robin's grip, but Tim's never been the kind of guy to ask somebody to let his ears go. It's good to open up his throat and go for it, but it's better when Robin's hips jerk and it's almost too much. The armoring on Robin's fingers scrapes against his scalp and makes it hard to think about anything except needing to breathe almost as badly as he needs Robin to thrust into his mouth just that hard.

He's getting to Robin more than he did when he first got to this universe -- when Robin would be practically shy, for a Robin. All it takes is a few groans -- letting him know how good it feels when he gives up his control for a second -- and he's almost as pushy as Batman, his grip hard on Tim's neck when he comes.

Tim pulls off and takes a deep breath of Gotham air before he can laugh. "Any change?"

"ETA three minutes," Robin says, and gives him a hand up.

Tim kisses him hard and gets Robin to grab his ass. He's learning.

*

Robin's also got a good handle on how to open Batman's quasi-secret vaults. Behind the extra uniforms, under the replacement armor -- where else would Bruce keep the Batsuits that just plain aren't six feet tall?

The ones for Dick are at the way back, these days, behind the ones that are the right height for Tim, but would pinch a little around the thighs.

Robin doesn't have exactly the same muscles he does, and Tim can't kill somebody with one pinky. Universes. Go figure.

"I've known about this for two years, but I never had the inclination to look for it before," Robin says, fondling the cowl.

"Use all the information available to you," Tim says in his best -- flawed -- Batvoice.

"It's the only way to make a valid analysis," Robin replies, and his is better. Not perfect, but definitely better. He takes off his mask, but the expression on his face is still entirely Robin's. "This is certainly like the correct measure."

Tim sticks his tongue out at Robin and tugs on his cape. "If you don't try it on, you're always gonna wonder."

Robin raises an eyebrow at him and peels his tunic off, then the undershirt. Whoever designed a uniform with that many damn layers -- Tim glances at the memorial, back in the better lit part of the cave, and shakes his head. Bruce had a purpose, sure.

There's an undershirt with the Batman uniform, too, and Robin puts it on.

"Dammit," Tim says, handing him the leggings. "I can't keep calling you Robin in that getup."

His smile is still Robin's, not Batman's, but the distinction has more to do with it not being framed by the cowl than anything else. It could be Nightwing's, too, if there were any of those costumes hanging around.

But that's really not Tim's kink.

"There would be very little point in my dressing this way if you were still going to call me Robin." He holds up the next piece. "I'm sure the boots are the right size. My feet haven't grown in years."

Sometimes universe differences are completely ridiculous. Sometimes it's just Robin being as dim as he possibly can. "Put 'em on and I'll let you bend me over the car."

"Again."

Tim shrugs. "You had fun."

Robin's mouth gets tighter and drier. "I wasn't the only one."

"You know you want to, anyway."

Robin pulls the boots on. "You hope I want to."

There's not a missed measurement in the suit, especially not in the guy wearing it. Tim grins at him. "Are you Batman, or aren't you?"

The cowl clicks into place and -- Robin's smile is fucking perfect with it. "What do you think, Robin?"

They may or may not make it to the car -- no, they'll make it to the car, because it's only a hundred yards. Tim could make it to the car with two sprained ankles. Getting there with a hard-on this painful is merely tragic, not impossible. "You're too short," he says, and backflips away. Those boots are definitely heavier than Robin's normal ones, and the added weight slows him down just enough that he misses.

Robin catches up to him at the car -- fades out of the shadow, like he should, and gets a grip on Tim's collar halfway through a cartwheel. "You're wasting energy."

It just takes a twist to get his legs around Robin's waist. "I've got a purpose, Batman."

"Perversity is no excuse."

There's just no way for Tim to grab Robin's cowl and kiss him without thinking of him as Batman.

It'll do, for now. The way R -- Batman pins him against the car when he does it makes it even more inevitable. "Fuck," Tim says, between kisses that make him gasp for breath.

Batman's laugh is so quiet it's almost not there -- no menacing chuckle, not from this Batman. Yet. "I should wash your mouth out with soap."

Tim grinds against him, jock to jock, and grins through the pain. "You could just fuck my mouth."

"When you use that kind of language? No." Batman nervestrikes his thigh and makes his leg tingle. "Stand on your own two feet for once."

"What, should I beg you more?" Tim gets his legs under him and kisses Batman again -- it's easier now they're the same height. He gets his tongue bitten for it, and laughs. "Tell you I need your big fat cock?"

Batman gets him by the hips and makes him turn around with one of those moves that someone as scrawny as Batman is shouldn't be able to do. "Do you think I don't know that?" He squeezes Tim's ass, and Tim can tell the difference between Batman and Robin's gauntlets through his leggings -- either that, or Batman's using his hands differently because he's Batman.

"Then do something about it." Tim arches back against his hand.

Batman shoves Tim's tights down around his thighs and squeezes his ass again. "And train you to act like this?" The first spank lands too lightly to make Tim do anything but laugh.

The next uses the weight of the gauntlet and stings like hell. Tim can still laugh, but it takes an effort. "Jesus, Batman -- why pretend you don't want me to be this way?"

Another swat and he's bracing for it, now. "Most people --" and the stinging lets him know his ass is bright red by now, and sitting down might be a problem if Batman keeps going "-- most people wouldn't take this as encouragement."

"If I was most people -- fuck --" His knees are shaking, and anytime is a good time for Batman to stop playing around.

Or hit him harder until he groans.

"Batman -- please --"

"What?" It's almost -- almost Robin's voice, and then it isn't. "Were you going to beg?"

Tim turns to look at him -- flushed under the cowl, trying like hell not to smile and ending up smirking. It's an evil little expression, borrowed from Robin and perfect for Batman. "Do you need me to?" He spreads his legs more and winces. Sitting down will definitely be an adventure. He grabs himself for distraction, and for the way it makes Batman's breath hiss between his teeth. "I -- god, if you don't fuck me, I'm just gonna jerk off on the car."

Batman grabs him by the hair and makes him arch back for a kiss that makes it harder to breathe than it was, but not quite hard enough. "No, you won't."

"You think so?" It's hard to touch himself slowly enough to make it a dare without driving himself crazier. There's no benefit in making Batman's job easier, here. "Take me, dammit."

"Robin --"

He's really been working on the voice. He gets the right blend of lust, faux disappointment, and amusement. When -- if -- he gets it down another half-octave, Tim will have to look around to see if -- Bruce -- is there.

For now, he puts on his most Robin grin and strokes himself a little faster. "I'm waiting. For now."

Batman grabs his wrist and pinches the tendons until he has to let himself go. "If you don't learn some patience --"

Tim smirks. "I know how you want me to be, Batman. Just impatient enough to beg you. Do you need me on my knees, too?" He tries to turn and face Batman to press the issue.

Batman leans on him, pushing him against the car again, and grinds against his ass. "Later."

"You're the boss." Tim wriggles against him and almost loses his balance when Batman pulls away. "Hey --"

Batman spanks him one more time and that snap -- and that rustle -- is enough to make Tim stop complaining. Nothing else sounds exactly like Batman unfastening his jock, and nothing else can make Tim grin quite so widely. "I'll be a good little Robin for-fucking-ever," Tim says, and grins over his shoulder at Batman. "I promise. Just take me already."

He can't see Batman's eyes narrow behind the cowl, but he is Robin, and he knows damn well how to read expressions through a quarter inch of Kevlar. "I'll hold you to that."

Sometime, he'll get Batman to be as hungry as Bruce is when Tim wins. For now, he knows Batman's not being a tenth as thorough with the lube as he wants to be, and it's enough. They're still learning how to work together.

He is Batman, even if half an hour ago he was Robin and in an hour he'll be Robin again. Batman knows exactly what he wants, and exactly what Robin needs. The first thrust brings Tim to his toes and elbows against the car, and makes him shout. "God, yes."

Batman's grunt against the back of his neck is just low and quiet enough to match the way he squeezes Tim's hip -- the texturing on his gauntlet digs in and there's going to be a pattern tomorrow. Not for the first time. He's not getting any gentler, and when he moves his other hand to Tim's cock -- it would be easier to do this tomorrow if he'd take off the gloves, but it wouldn't be half as right, and Tim would be able to stop whimpering. Not worth it.

He presses his palms against the side of the car, looking for more leverage, and Batman says, "Robin." The snap of his hips is exactly what he needs. And he does it again, and, god, his timing is dead on. It takes Tim five seconds to realize the voice was too perfect.

It's too late, then, to stop himself from saying, "Fuck, yes, Batman," and shoving himself back as he comes.

He can open his eyes because he's spent just that long working with Batman, and he sees Bruce reflected in the side of the car, dressed in civvies and watching him shake with the last aftershocks.

Then Batman bites the back of his neck and pulls him back harder, and he can't see anything. "Oh, yeah," Tim says, and he lets himself say, "God, Batman, I'm yours."

Batman groans and shudders, getting off on the words, maybe, as much as everything else. Bruce's reflection is right where Tim can see it.

He looks hungry around the eyes. After this, he can damn well wait a while.

Batman kisses him right under his ear, then goes still. He must've noticed the reflection.

Tim stretches his fingers in their gloves and nudges Batman with his shoulder. "Let me up."

Bruce is just going to have to keep himself company tonight. Tim wriggles his hips a little when he can and gets a wipe out of his belt.

Batman pushes back his cowl and goes back to being Robin. Somewhat. Maybe sixty-forty. "I --"

Bruce smiles like he's in the office and nobody's looking. "Good to see you boys getting along so well. Make sure you pick up after yourselves." He winks at Tim and turns toward the stairs.

Robin takes the cape off. "I need to go slip into something more comfortable."

Tim catches Bruce by the shoulder and kisses him -- not something he got enough of from Batman. "We can pick up later."

Bruce hugs him too tightly for plain-old Bruce and kisses him hard enough for Batman on his best day. "If you don't clean up your messes, you won't be able to play with my things anymore."

Tim puts his hand down Bruce's pants and gets a Batman look for it. "I know. Give me a minute." It's a good thing his jaw's not tired yet.

*

"Jesus fuck, Batman," Tim says, throwing his head back and fucking his own fist with shaky strokes. Bruce is barely touching him -- one hand on his nipple -- and he's arching onto his shoulderblades and the balls of his feet, looking for more. If he rocks any farther back, Batman will have to stop him from falling off the bed, but he's past caring.

"Slow down," Batman says -- orders -- and pulls his hand away.

Tim screams, breathless and high, and clutches at himself. "I can't, I --"

Batman squeezes his wrist. "You can, Robin. Do it."

He gives Tim enough time for a deep, shuddering breath, and kisses him.

Barbara turns up the volume on the monitor by twenty-five percent, backs up the recording three seconds, and replays it. "Do you always make that noise when Batman kisses you?" Barbara asks, tweaking Tim's nipple lightly.

He laughs and leans back against her breasts. "Sure. Don't you?"

"Not yet." She returns the monitor to real time tracking. It's only a slight jump -- Bruce's hand is in Tim's hair, Tim's hand is moving again.

"Please," Tim says onscreen, a sob in his voice.

Batman laughs. "Half that speed, and use your thumb -- the callus -- more."

Barbara whistles. "He got him."

Tim wriggles back onto her lap more. "He got him the second he walked in."

Barbara bites his ear. "True." She moves the chair back. "Bend over the desk."

Batman's smiling at Tim, back in the bedroom, while Tim uses his bo callus to tease the head of his dick and grins back with his best smile that doesn't technically belong to him. "Such a good boy," Batman says.

"He is not," Tim says, bracing his hands on the empty part of the desk. "Bruce, you're so --"

"Neither are you." Barbara taps the inside of his thigh with an escrima stick. "Give me a little more spread, Robin."

"You got it." She slicks her fingers up and slicks him up while Batman's kissing Tim. "Wow," Tim says, pushing back onto Barbara's fingers with a twist of his hips. "Do I really grab his hair that hard?"

Barbara chuckles and swats him good and hard on the ass. "Sometimes."

"Oh, Batman --" Tim's voice is shakier than it ever is when he's Robin. And way more than it is when he's Batman. "Let me -- god, let me come."

Tim glances up. He's hardly even moving his hand, now -- probably too close to do anything but squeeze. "No stamina -- oh, fuck yeah." Before he left home, he would've said he'd never find a girl as awesome as Batgirl.

Then he met Oracle.

And her vast collection of vibrators.

And her escrima sticks.

They're not that big, but she sure as hell knows how to use them.

"Do you need me to cue the footage of how long you lasted the first time you had sex with Bruce?" Barbara asks. Her voice is sharp, and then she swats him again. In case he didn't work it out.

"If you want to --" Tim groans. "I just -- never tried ordering him around like that."

"Show me," Batman says. "What you would do -- now -- if you were alone." There's a catch in his breathing -- if Tim was there, instead of Robin, Batman would be so far down his throat neither of them would be breathing.

Batman's being polite -- for him.

Tim's probably too far gone to know how lucky -- unlucky he is. And too busy screaming Bruce's bedroom down, though he's enough in character that he's yelling "Batman."

"Very nice." Barbara gets the angle just right and Tim's fingernails scrape across the countertop as he wails. "Oh -- even better."

Batman is pinning Tim to the bed when Tim looks up, kissing him --

No.

Bruce is pinning Tim to the bed, kissing him.

"Holy shit, the bastard." Tim slams his fist onto the desk. "They should've --"

"Shh." Barbara puts her hand on his hip. "I want to --"

"He should've told me he was going to do that."

Bruce lets Tim go, all swollen lips and blown pupils. "Tim."

Tim smiles like Robin and rolls out of bed. "Thank you -- Bruce."

Barbara's cameras are placed well enough that it only takes her one angle change and a little replay to find the way Bruce's hand fists in the duvet when Tim walks out.

"Goddamn," Tim says, and then he says it again, and he screams Oracle's name when she finishes jerking him off. "I don't -- I don't get it."

Barbara pats his ass. "He's always been as inscrutable as he could manage."

But he's Robin, and Robin --

Robin, at least, should understand Robin, so either Tim's losing his touch or Robin's losing his -- Robin. Weird -- there's no easier place to be Robin than in bed with Batman.

Maybe Robin's growing out of his R. And into -- Batman's taken, but --

Tim straightens up and looks for his shorts. "Looks like Daddy needs me to kiss his boo-boo and make it better."

"You do it so well." Barbara gives him a wry smile that would never have belonged to Batgirl. While he gets dressed, she does some Oracle business, then salutes him with her shiny escrima stick when he's set to go. "Good hunting."

"See you tomorrow, B."

Her smile deepens. "See you sooner."

*

"What the fuck was that?" Tim asks. Never mind that it's five in the morning and he's in the Drake "family" home, pinning Robin to his bed with one hand over his mouth. He lets go just enough to get an answer.

"What I wanted to know." Robin rocks up against him -- not sounding like Robin at all. It's almost his Batman voice, but -- not that, either. Not that deep. "Why, did it bother you, Timmy?"

"Don't --"

Robin's smile is almost invisible in the light. In the diffused streetlamp glow, it's more like remembering a nightmare to see him smile. "Don't which?" It's not his Tim Drake, Normal Boy voice either.

"Don't call me that." No reason not to let him, except that he smiles that way when he does it.

Robin rolls them over and gets his hand over Tim's mouth, and his other on Tim's crotch. "Doesn't look like it bothers you that much." He pulls Tim's jock down and moves onto his knees. "Try not to scream, little brother."


End file.
